“As do I. And I believe I’ve been negligent. Thank you for the surprise trip to Europe. The planning must have been intense.”
She laughed. “Do you know how hard it was to get your clothes measurements? I dug through the hamper in your bathroom.”
There was silence. “That night about two months ago, when you said your stomach was upset?”
She giggled. “Yes. But I was able to get the measurements I needed.”
“And will you tell me how you knew where my passport was located?”
“Oh, that’s easy. I was hungry, and you had nothing in your fridge, so I looked in your freezer. Which leads to the question, how do you stay so bulked if you don’t have food in your apartment?”
The cabin crew announced they were free to move about the cabin and instructed them to stay belted in when seated. The partition lowered, and Smith reached his hand out. She laid hers in his. His eyes were closed. He had to be exhausted. The hour in the car was the only sleep he’d gotten last night.
“Genetics, I assume, play the majority role. If I’m hungry, I go to the corner bodega. The woman makes fresh meals.”
“And you what? Eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner there?”
He shrugged, still not opening his eyes. “It’s reasonably priced.”
“Smith, do you knowhowto cook?” She squeezed his hand, and he opened one eye.
“Do TV dinners count?”
Her mouth dropped open. “No, they most certainly do not.” She shook her head. “We’re going to rectify that.”
He chuckled. “The best-laid plans …”
“Oh, don’t even try to dampen my optimistic ideas of grandeur.” Smith laughed, a full-on, deep laugh that resonated through her like a tympany drum in the orchestra pit, finding her center and making her vibrate. Magical.
“I’ll use caution on my hydroponic pessimism.” He let that half-smile of his slide out for a moment.
“Be sure that you do.” She held his hand as he fell asleep, and as his grip loosened, she stared at his relaxed face. A wisp of his dark brown hair strayed from the swept-back appearance and dangled over his brow.
Val waived off the offer for the first meal service, letting Smith sleep. About two hours outside of Heathrow, she gently woke him. “Dinner will be served soon.”
He opened his eyes, and his warm hazel gaze found her. She smiled at him. “Did you sleep well?”
He sat up and rubbed his neck as the seat retracted back into a lounger instead of a bed. “I did.” Looking around the cabin, he asked, “Quiet trip?”
“Except for your snoring,” Val quipped.
His attention snapped back to her. “I snore?”
She chuckled. “No.”
He rubbed his face. “Okay.” He stood up and stretched, although he had to tip his head, so he didn’t hit the aircraft ceiling. “Be right back.”
Val watched as he moved up the aisle. She saw him stop, stoop over, then rise. He handed something to the man in the pod at the front of the cabin before disappearing behind the bulkhead. “Val, 3D printed plastic guns have the same mechanisms, but plastic, right?” Smith’s words came through her earpiece.
Val sat up straight in her chair, instantly alert. “Yes, and if disassembled, would make it through screening. Where?”
“Front right. A firing pin, I could see a barrel when I handed it to him. The rest was covered with a magazine. Come up the other aisle. I’m standing by the restrooms.”
Val slipped out of her pod and made her way up to the bulkhead, taking her time and making sure she examined every person. A man sat in the front pod with a magazine opened and spread across his lap. He glanced at her and then away when she smiled, his hand moving to cover the periodical. Val glanced across the space and caught the individual Smith had identified staring across the cabin at her—or at the man with the magazine.
She found Smith and stopped out of sight of both men. “There’s a second person of concern. Also with a magazine in his lap. When I made eye contact, he warded and covered whatever was under that magazine.”
Smith nodded, whispering as she was. The earpieces had been for convenience. They’d become a necessity. “How far out are we from London?”